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Literature Text
A piece of me snagged
on your fingertips, now
I'm spending the rest
of my life unraveling
for you.
on your fingertips, now
I'm spending the rest
of my life unraveling
for you.
Literature
love didn't matter, but home was with you
i.
there's still shadows left of you
even with the
little that remains. i wish
sometimes the light
would stop it's singing long enough
for them to grow,
even though
my heart spends enough
time aching when
just the photographs
show their faces.
ii.
you took me
to a wedding once - it was a cold
night, and the
multitude
of stars in the sky made
it seem like God's
breath was reaching out
to earth. i don't remember
the names of the two who
joined together
indefinitely, anymore, not
when the wind's taken
those memories
in it's hold; but i remember crying because
love's just so damn
hard to find, and you
found me instead behind
the rosebush
Literature
I know you, I love you
We fall in love with the microscopic, rough-edged details of people. We crave the knowledge of our lovers, crave to know them the way nobody else can. In a way, these idiosyncrasies become our own personal gift, a sliver of our favorite person preserved within ourselves.
You love the way he licks his lips twice before saying something important, exactly twice, like he’s counting out two seconds to reclaim his composure.
You love how her fingertips smell like turpentine and lavender when she finishes a painting because she doesn’t stop until her brushes are clean, and then she spends too much time trying to scrub her hands fresh.
Literature
gossamer love
you will love a woman
who uses the word
gossamer
too often. she will
diagnose dead artists' descents
into madness and laugh
too loudly at jokes
no one understands.
she will braid crowns of
flowers, she will write poems
in constellations, she will
try to walk like a dancer so
no one can hear her
leave. she will be
an ice sculpture, and when
she cries, you'll convince yourself
she's melting, she loves you, you've
changed her, you've
changed; she will wear you
like a comma, like
an incomplete thought,
like
a
pause
in her story, and
she will leave you wondering
what
you
did
wrong.
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And yet, in all despairing, one would have it no other way.
This is wonderful!
This is wonderful!